


Merry Christmas, I Guess

by Dubious_Literature



Category: Original Work
Genre: Coming In Pants, Emetophilia, Gay Sex, Grinding, M/M, Porn With Plot, Seasickness, Shameless Smut, Sick Fic, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:48:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28281945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dubious_Literature/pseuds/Dubious_Literature
Summary: Ash meets Miles online, and the two nature enthusiasts hit it off right away. Once they learn they live only a few hours away from one another, they start meeting up to hike and kayak. Miles has never been kayaking on the ocean, though, and Ash is eager to show him. Unfortunately for Miles (andveryfortunately for Ash), the day doesn't go quite as planned.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	Merry Christmas, I Guess

**Author's Note:**

> **AUTHORS NOTE: This work was posted many moons ago under a different account. The work was later deleted as I did not want my friends or coworkers reading my awful smutty emeto fiction. If you've seen this before somewhere here on A03, then I assure you it was me; you can confirm on said user's profile/bio.**
> 
> If you have a request for a story, hit me up. I'll do my best to get around to it. You will be credited for the idea and the story will be dedicated to you. For a list of things I won't write about, please see my profile. I love a challenge, so don't be shy! Send your creative ideas my way!

I was stoked to finally get to see Miles in person again. Originally, we met over Steam after playing an FPS game. After gaming together for about a year, Miles and I discovered we had a lot in common. We were both queer, liked the same games, and enjoyed spending time outdoors. I mean, I was always into hiking and stuff, but Miles was new to the whole thing; it was his way of getting into shape which was cool. I would give him pointers on stuff like where to find good shoes or how to shop for a kayak, and he would keep me posted on his new adventures outdoors. One day, I was telling him about this sick trail up north a ways from my place when he said, “Mendocino? Dude, I’m like half an hour away from there!” I guess I should have had him pegged for a Nor-Cal boy; his “dude” count was off the freaking charts.

That settled it. Once we found out we lived three hours away from each other, we had to meet up and hike together. So we did. Over the next couple months, Miles and I ended up meeting in person three or four times. 

Whenever we met up in person, neither of us brought up our “private” moments. It always played out the same: Miles would passive-aggressively complain about how he was tired of gaming, or how he didn’t want to talk about kayaking anymore. He would say something like, “Mind if I turn on my webcam for a bit?” I never minded, because I knew that once he did, we would end up masturbating to each other. Sometimes I could tell he wanted to bring it up in person because he would stop in the middle of a trail and give me the same look he did before he pulled his dick out on camera. Sometimes I wondered if he thought about kissing me or maybe taking things further. I sure did. Some nights it kept me awake. I had a _huge_ crush on Miles.

But like I said, Miles and I were scheduled to meet again. I had to leave when it was still dark out if I wanted to make it to the ocean on time. In my opinion, kayaking out at sea is best experienced at daybreak. I rolled up to Miles’s townhouse a little after five in the morning and texted him that I was outside.

I was so nervous, doing whatever I could to keep myself distracted while I impatiently waited. I turned my phone over in my hands; ran my fingers along the wheel; smudged some dust off my steering column. Why wasn’t he texting back? Should I go knock on the door? Was he asleep still? Suddenly, my phone buzzed. 

**2 minutes. toilet.**

I snickered and typed, **You got this bro.**

After he wrote **lol shut up idiot** I pocketed the phone and shut my SUV off, fingers tapping against the wheel. Come on, man, let me see that gorgeous face, that perfect, tawny hair, cut short at the sides and long on top. Let me see those whiskey eyes, those cupid’s lips. Or how about that athletic form with just the perfect bit of belly, a trail of hair forming a V starting around the navel and descending all the way down to-

The garage door opened. _There_ he was - - my man! My man who I wanted to fuck. I knew that we would inevitably end up talking about it in person, and every time we met up, I couldn’t help but wonder if that would be the day. Hell, maybe it’d be today. Maybe one of us would push past our nerves and actually speak up for a change.

I got out of the car, helped Miles hoist his kayak onto the rack next to mine, and just like that, we were off. As we drove up the winding, redwood hills, we made our usual banter, although I felt like I was hogging the conversation.

“I mean, the critics liked it, but user reviews were trash. What about you, Miles? Play anything good lately?”

“Nah, not really. Between exercise and work, I don’t have much time.”

“You still at the office?”

“Yeah,” he answered. “Not as exciting as the forestry field, but.”

“Eh, I dunno. The job can be a real birch.”

Miles shot me a side glance and raised an eyebrow. 

“Get it?”

He snorted and lulled his head to the side, watching the trees zip past. After that, the conversation died down. His answers became shorter, his attention less focused. Were my puns really that bad?

“Everything cool?” I asked.

“Oh yeah. Just tired. That’s what happens when you wake up at dumb-o-clock in the morning.” Well that was fair. Kayaking at dawn was my idea after all. He gave me a playful punch on the arm and I snickered.

We pulled up at the diner ten minutes later and found a table, ready to enjoy a light breakfast and a cup of coffee before heading down to the beach. I was already finished with my food when I noticed that Miles had hardly touched his.

“You okay?”

He took an obsequious sip of his coffee and nodded. “Yeah, just not super hungry today. Gimme like ten more minutes. Sorry for the hold up.”

“Hey, don’t sweat it. You excited?”

“Are you kidding?” He laughed this warm laugh that reminded me of flames crackling in a fireplace. “I’ve been looking forward to hanging out with you all week.”

My lips parted and I brushed back a long strand of black hair that had fallen out of my bun. My face was on fire. “That right?”

“Don’t push it Ash. You know I only hang out with you because you know where to go kayaking.” He gave me a sultry wink. Or maybe I only found it sultry because I was crazy for him. Either way, I appreciated the attention. We hauled off a couple minutes later, and twenty after that, we were paddling out to sea. 

It was the perfect – and I mean the _perfect_ – day to take the kayak out. The sun had just come up over the horizon, obscured by rainless, gray clouds. Thick fog rolled against the water. The sea was exactly the way I liked it: melodic little waves that rocked the boat peacefully while adding a little extra resistance to my paddles. 

Since Miles was still pretty new to kayaking and had never taken one out to sea before, we stayed about a half mile within range of the shore (not that you could see it with all the fog.) An interesting thing about the ocean is that even when everything feels silent, you don’t realize how loud it is in general. I had accidentally gotten ahead of Miles, the splashes of his paddles lost somewhere behind me. I stopped and waited, taking in the sounds of the waves and the seabirds, the kiss of the morning chill against my cheeks. Pure bliss. About a minute later, I heard Miles approach from behind. 

I glanced to my right. The tip of Miles’s kayak came into view, which had me wondering if bringing our Go-Pros out there was necessary; ordinarily I would have been excited to review the footage and check out the shoreline from afar, but you know, fog. 

Miles pulled up next to me and stopped paddling. The first thing I noticed was that he was coughing. I hoped he wasn’t catching a cold or something. Is that why he was so tired earlier? Miles was always so lively, but not that morning. He seemed distant and tired. 

The next time he coughed, he turned his head away from me and spit into the water. That’s when I realized that the front of his kayak was covered, absolutely _covered_ in sick.

I swallowed hard. I swear I could feel my face turn red, ears ringing so loud that I could barely hear the ocean. One thing that Miles didn’t know about me – something I never EVER intended to tell him – was that this was a fetish of mine, and that seeing his mess all over the front of his kayak made my cock stir in my pants. I quickly pushed my lewd thoughts aside and asked, “Are you okay?”

Miles was pale with these big, dark circles under his eyes. Still, he laughed, sweet laugh-lines and dimples forming over his cheeks. “Oh man,” he answered, voice raw. “Gotta say, I have an easier time out at the lake.”

“Yeah?” I tittered, trying to ignore the sensation between my legs. “This your first time out at sea? Like in general?”

He nodded. I swear I visibly watched the color drain from his face as he did. I knew what was happening before it happened. Tucked into his kayak and forced to endure the swell of the waves, his knuckles turned white as he clutched his paddle. His kayak bobbed over another rise, and as it made its descent, Miles bent over and vomited onto the already-existing puddle. I think he must have thrown up most of his breakfast already because not much came out. Still, it splashed against the front of his kayak, a gust of wind carrying a dribble away into the sea. He spit into his mess and followed up with a nauseated groan. _Fuck me_ that was hot. 

“Come on,” I insisted, trying my damnedest not to objectify him. “Let’s get back to shore.”

Mouth agape and panting, Miles gave a dejected sigh. “Fuck. I’m sorry.”

“Dude, don’t be. Let’s get going.” 

We started paddling back to shore. With Miles in tow, it took a lot longer than it would have taken me on my own. He looked absolutely miserable. Every time the waves rocked his kayak, he looked like he wanted to die. Once or twice, he stopped paddling and dry-heaved, this sick, guttural noise bellowing from his throat. Nothing else came up though. He really needed to choke down some water.

As soon as we hauled our kayaks back onto the beach it started to sprinkle. Guess it was wise to pack it in. He drank the rest of his water which wasn’t much so I gave him mine too. He was hesitant at first – didn’t wanna put me out and all that – but I was adamant. I offered to haul the kayaks back up to the car myself while he rested, but Miles insisted he help out. First we took mine, hoisting it on top of the car, then returned to claim his. Miles stopped, looked at it and walked in a circle, scratching the back of his head.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

He gestured to the kayak. To his mess. 

I gave a nervous laugh and said, “Man, it’s fine. For all you know I’ve got some kind of freaky vomit kink.” 

Oh god. Why did I say that? Why?! Why even joke?! It’s not like he’d think it was funny!

To my surprise, though, he did. He gave a wry titter and said, “I wish I did. It’d sure make being seasick more fun.”

Even Miles telling me he felt seasick turned me on. Not to mention his soiled kayak laying there in the sand. Once again, I shoved my dark thoughts aside and said, “Seriously though, don’t sweat it.” 

I lifted up one end – the messy front end – and waited for Miles to grab the other. He did and we carried it back to the car. By the time we were there, it was raining hard enough that there wasn’t a whole lot of mess left. I ratcheted the boats into place, and a minute later, I was driving him home.

I turned onto the coastal highway in Fort Bragg headed toward Willits. If you know the area, then you know exactly why somebody with an upset stomach wouldn’t want to travel there. Listening to the whir of the tires against wet asphalt and the thrumming of the windshield wipers, I glanced over at Miles. His hand was settled uncomfortably over his middle and he was still pale. Suddenly, he released a queasy little groan.

“Miles?”

“Shit. I don’t think I can do this. Can you pull over for a little while?”

“Sure, man. Or we could get a room if you want.”

Miles blinked. “You mean like a hotel room?” I nodded. A complex expression fell over his face. “Look Ash, I’m not gonna lie: I’ve been wanting to get a room with you since we first met in person, but not like this. This isn’t hot. Not unless you were serious about that fetish,” he chuckled. 

The look on my face must have spoken volumes. I could feel my cheeks flush. 

Miles’s face fell. “Oh. You mean you actually…”

“Dude,” I interrupted, wanting to steer the conversation elsewhere, “I’ll just get you your own room and wait in the lobby while you rest. It’s not a big deal.”

“Wait, Ash. Is this really a turn on for you?” 

I pressed my lips tightly together. I could not have been more humiliated if I tried. Why did I have to go and make that stupid joke earlier? Seriously?! How dumb could I have been?

“Dude, you’ve got nothing to be ashamed of,” he insisted. “Everyone’s got a kink. It’s not my personal thing, but I don’t think any less of you for it.”

I didn’t know what to say so I didn’t say anything. I just focused on driving and contemplated pulling over like he initially requested.

“Come on, Asher, let’s go get a room.”

I glanced over at him. “Seriously?”

“Our plan was to spend the weekend together right? As long as you’re not put off by…by, uh…” he clutched his stomach. 

“Believe me. You aren’t putting me off.” Actually he was _really_ turning me on, but I was still too embarrassed to confess that outright. “I guess we do still have the whole weekend ahead of us…”

“Yeah,” he agreed with a tired smile.

“Well, okay. There’s a place a few miles up the road. That alright?”

“That’s perfect. Mind if I take a quick snooze in the meantime?”

“Yeah, man. Go for it.”

He cranked back the passenger’s seat and lied down, folding his arm across his eyes. Holy shit. A million thoughts were running through my head. Was he seriously okay with me having this fetish? Was this going to ruin our friendship? Were we even compatible outside of masturbating over our webcams? 

Miles was usually the quieter one, but today, I was. The next ten, fifteen minutes were spent in silence, listening to the sounds of rain on the roof and the occasional passing car. The road was dead save for a couple traffic cones left over from whatever construction was abandoned on the shoulder during the rain. Heh. Cones left out with no actual workers around; Cal Trans represent. 

Finally, Miles cranked his seat up. “Oh god. Pull over.”

Well that snapped me back to reality. “Oh. Are you-”

“Dude.” There was a thin sheen of sweat across his pallid forehead. “Right now.”

“Uhhh…” I mused, watching the orange triangles flicker by. “But there’s cones?” _UrrrRR bUT thErE’S cOnES!!!_ What a dumb fucking thing to say. But there _were_ cones! Cones everywhere!

He clasped his hand over his mouth. “Ash, I’m gonna be sick…” 

I tried to think on my feet. There had to be something in the glovebox or in the back seat that he could use, right? But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t focus past the erection growing in my pants. Miles was right there next to me, so nauseous that he was about to come unraveled. I couldn’t think straight (not that I could ever think straight, per se) but I really couldn’t think of anything I could do to help him. Finally, I saw an end to the cones far up ahead on the straightaway. 

“Hold tight,” I said.

He shook his head. “Can’t!” he croaked, and dry-retched right after.

I looked at him with sympathy and said, “It’s alright. Just let it out. I’ll pull over as soon as I can, I promise.”

It didn’t look like he had much of a choice. He was so nauseous that he didn’t even have time to roll down the window. All he could do was cup his hands under his chin and gag. This time, he did so silently, and when I glanced back over from the road, a flux of sick was gushing out of his mouth and into his hands. I stiffened in my pants. Fuck.

Despite my “issue,” I really did feel bad for him. He was trapped, forced to endure copious amounts of nausea to the point where physical relief was the only escape. Of course that’s also what turned me on about it. Something about a lack of control, I guess. I wasn’t about to hold him hostage, though. I rolled down the windows and pressed on ahead. Almost there.

Miles squeezed his lips shut and suppressed a deep, guttural gag. Some of what was in his hands dribbled onto his crotch. I didn’t care if it ended up getting onto my car. Holy _shit_ that got me off. But as hot as it was, I knew he wasn’t feeling so hot and tried to keep that in mind.

Finally the cones ended. I slowed the car down. Miles flung his handful of sick out the window in a way that was almost slapstick. Before I could fully stop the car, he unbuckled and doubled over the open window to heave. It was this loud, miserable retch, followed by a hefty splash against the passenger door.

I parked on the shoulder and turned off the engine. Miles was panting, back and shoulders trembling whenever another round of nausea took him over the edge. I could hear the vomit against my car door, some of it spluttering onto the ground. He coughed and spit, clinging to the window for dear life. “Oh god…” he groaned. 

I unbuckled and got out of the car, walking all the way around to the passenger side. What I saw was…wow.

For the most part, it was all water, maybe a little leftover coffee. It dribbled all the way down the side of my car and into the dirt. Miles was sweating. Panting. I gently opened the door – the handle of which was actually clean – and helped ease Miles into a more comfortable sitting position with his feet hanging out of the car.

“Ash, I am _so_ sorry.”

“Please don’t be.” I knelt down on the ground next to the puddle of vomit and placed a hand on his shoulder, giving it a brisk rub. My other hand came to rest on his knee. 

“Dude, I am so fucking nauseous right now.”

I flicked a strand of brown hair out of his face. “Yeah?”

He nodded. “I don’t think I’m seasick. I think I’m sick-sick. I threw up a little this morning but I thought it was just stress or something.”

“Why didn’t you say something, dumbass?”

He gave a weary chuckle. “I really wanted to see you. I thought I could get over whatever was going on this morning.”

“Well, joke’s on you. Not you feel sick _and_ you know I have a creepy fetish.”

“It’s not like it’s poop or something,” he shrugged. Then he paused. “It’s… _not,_ right?”

“Poop?”

He nodded.

“Definitely not into poop. Why, are you?”

“Definitely not,” he answered with a smile. But just as quickly as it appeared on his face, it faded. A small noise came from his throat. “Ah, fuck…”

“Hey,” I said, cupping that square, dimpled chin of his, “can you hold it until we get a room? It’s about a mile up the road.”

He swallowed. “I’ll try. I don’t think tossing up my breakfast on the side of the road is a great look for me.” I mean, I begged to differ, but.

He looked pretty rough the rest of the ride over, but we made it in one piece. Miles hung out by the car while I paid for the room and picked up the keys. That way, if he threw up again, he could do it with some privacy. I poked my head out of the office and waved him over. I watched him finish off a bottle of water – one of the ones I kept in my back seat – and head over. Good. At least he was staying hydrated. He gave a precarious glance at the passenger door on his way over. It’d be fine, though. It was raining and most of his mess way already gone. If it wasn’t all gone in the morning, I could run through a carwash. 

He was cold and shivering by the time he approached me. The rain wasn’t terrible or anything, just normal ocean rain, but it was really having an effect on him. I think he actually was coming down with something. After walking through the lobby I pressed the button to the elevator. 

As we waited for it to descend, I placed a palm against his forehead. “You’ve got a fever, Miles.” I took my hand back and shot him a sympathetic look.

He shook his head in response. “You don’t have to do this you know.”

“Do what?”

“Commit to this. It’s not too late to take me home.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m happy to take care of you.” The doors to the elevator opened. We stepped inside. “Besides, what are you gonna do at home that you can’t do with me?”

“Play video games?”

“I’d love to see you play a first person shooter while you’re puking your guts up.”

“I could adjust the field of view.” 

“Uh huh.” I rolled my eyes and watched the doors close. As soon as the elevator lurched upward, Miles went from white to whiter. Something about the motion or being boxed in like that was obviously making the experience worse for him. I was getting hard again. As the elevator rose higher, I placed a hand against his middle. He looked down at me – him being a couple inches taller – and his lips parted. I was about to kiss him when the elevator dinged and the doors slid open. As it turned out, kissing him would have been a mistake.

“This is some bullshit,” he laughed before he was interrupted by a deep, guttural noise. “Shit. Where’s our room?”

I looked at the key card and up at the room numbers. “End of the hall.”

He stared down the hallway. I bet it felt ten times as long as it really was to Miles. “Ah shit…”

“Come on,” I said, placing a hand on his back. “We’re almost there.”

His feet moved forward, but the further we walked, the more he swayed. 

“Easy.”

“Dude, I’m not gonna make it…” He gritted his teeth. Oh man, he really wasn’t, was he? Still, he hadn’t thrown up again, and we were almost there.

I fumbled for the key card and shoved it into the slot so fast I thought it’d break. It felt like forever waiting for the little light to turn green. Finally it did, and I flung the door open. Miles went barreling past me. He was right, tough. It was too late.

Even before I could find the lights I knew what had happened. I heard the sound of vomit splashing against tile, followed but, “Agh…shit man…” and a couple of despondent coughs. I closed the door behind us as Miles said, “Where’s the light? I can’t – ohhh god…”

I tried my damnedest, feeling around for a switch, but there was none. It _had_ to be somewhere. I slid my palm against the walls to no avail. Another visceral noise came from his throat. It was too dark; I wasn’t going to find the light, and he wasn’t going to make it to the toilet.

“Come on,” I said, feeling around for him. Once I found him, I slid my hands against his shoulders and pulled him gently toward the ground. “Just sit down and take it easy for a minute.”

“No man, I’m seriously gonna be sick right now!”

“I know.” I guided his shoulders down, down, down until he was on the floor with me. He was hesitant at first, but I think he realized there wasn’t a better option. He was too woozy. Either he could sit down and try to keep from swaying and making himself sicker, or I could fumble around for the light while he risked throwing up onto something that wasn’t the two feet of tile at the entrance. 

I stroked his back while we sat together, wondering just how close I was to the puddle he made. How much had he thrown up when he stumbled in? It didn’t sound like a lot. Just then, he audibly tried to suppress another round. I could tell he was miserable, that he needed relief.

“Just let it out,” I assured him, letting my palm trace over the small of his back.

“I can’t, Ash…it’s so fucking embarrassing.”

“Miles, you’re sick. Just be sick. It’ll make both of us feel good.” He didn’t respond. “It’s fine, really. And if you want, I’ll never bring it up again. What happens at the Pelican Inn stays at the Pelican Inn.”

“Really?”

“Really. You have nothing to feel embarrassed about. Hey, remember that time I was masturbating and I came so hard I jizzed into my own eye?”

Miles gave a weary laugh. “Yeah. Didn’t you have to go to the doctor?”

“Yep. It was the _worst._ You try explaining that to an optometrist. Nothing you’re about to do can compare. Trust me. Besides, in the end, you know we’re just gonna end up fucking each other’s brains out in this room.”

Now he laughed outright. “Shit, Ash. I don’t deserve you.”

“I’m pretty great.”

I heard him clasp his hand over his face. “Ugh…you also have a really messy kink, you know that?”

“Yeah…well…cumming into your own eye loses its appeal after a while.”

I think he tried to laugh but coughed instead. Even though I couldn’t see him, I knew he was getting sick again. I heard something wet spill into his lap. Damn. He couldn’t even keep down a bottle of water. For the second time that day, my cock stirred outright. I pulsed against my boxers, against my jeans. His back arched under my touch and a louder, wetter splash came from the darkness. This time it dragged on for a full two seconds. I pressed my ass against the floor and involuntarily moved my hips. _Fuck…he was so sick…_

After the last splash, he coughed three times. His third one was interrupted by another bout of sick. Some of it splattered against the tile and some…some washed over my pants. I clenched my floor muscles and let my cock move inside my underwear, the sensation of Miles’s mess rousing me further.

“Oh, shit, I think I just threw up on you,” he croaked.

“It’s alright,” I assured him. I moved my hand from his back over his waist, feeling his hips stir as he readjusted from his hunched-over position. I then traced it across his middle, tugging up his shirt and easing my way underneath. My palm settled against his belly.

“Shit. You really are into this,” he whispered, and gagged shortly after. “Urk…can’t believe this is happening…”

“I owe you.”

“You do. Big time. Oh…” Miles moaned and doubled over a little. I let my palm stir across his middle, my opposite hand gliding in between my own legs and over my crotch. I was already hard and aching. I gave my bulge a little squeeze and exhaled. I was so excited, so stiff inside of my clutch, feeling Miles’s belly hitch and contract as he stifled his nausea. 

“Please…” I begged, so horny and needy.

His throat made another sound. “Oh god…I can’t believe I’m about to do this for you…”

“Oh my god, yes…” I was rubbing myself so hard through my pants that I was already getting close. I couldn’t wait. I wanted it so bad, sitting there on my ass with my hips twitching impatiently. 

Then, Miles leaned over my lap and gagged. I think he was nervous because at first nothing came out. Then he did it again, this time with another, “Ah fuck…I really don’t feel good…” 

I rubbed my opposite hand over his abdomen and pressed down against it. I wanted to feel his muscles clench, making his little bit of extra belly jerk. I think the pressure against his middle was too much for him because that’s exactly what happened. He made a hitching noise and suddenly a long, hard splash spilled over my lap. It was so wet and hot that I could barely stand it. And it must have really felt vile getting it up, because it stirred his gag reflex again and a smaller, involuntary round of sick dribbled into the existed puddle on my crotch. He spit and shuddered and groaned.

I was crawling into his lap before I could stop myself. He had already made a mess of himself, so it wasn’t like I was making it worse. I ground my hard, clothed cock against his flaccid one and started rocking my hips. I was already moaning. I couldn’t hold back anymore. I had been watching him feel nauseous all day and it was too much. That kind of thing got me harder than anything else, and this would likely be the only chance I ever got to experiment with someone naturally ill and willing to sacrifice his discomfort to tend to my desires.

I grated against his wet crotch. My hips couldn’t stop. I needed friction. Needed to cum. It was already building inside of my balls and I was a hard, aching mess. 

He felt so good underneath me, but I don’t think my consistent rocking was making him feel so well. He gave a ragged, little groan, like the one he gave after getting sick all over his kayak. Maybe he was feeling like he did out on the water. Maybe he felt like he did when he was forced to endure the twists and turns of the road. I felt so bad – so turned on – for him, stomach forced into his throat with each motion of my hips.

Oh god, I needed it. I needed it so bad. That’s why I was slipping my fingers into his mouth and across his tongue. He immediately gagged. I pulled out and he groaned. “Damn it…”

“Should I stop?” I asked, hips still relentlessly swaying.

“No. Just get it out of your system. But seriously…you owe me Ash.”

“Anything!” I sputtered. Oh my god. My balls. “I’ll do anything you want!” They hurt so bad. I needed to cum. 

“Go ahead, Ash…”

I gave a shuddery breath and plunged my fingers back into his mouth, across his tongue, and down his throat. He wasted no time in gagging on me, even going to far as to suck my digits. I moaned and ground my hips down. His mess felt amazing on my crotch. I was so horny I felt like I was going to die if I didn’t get release. I started moving my index and middle fingers across his tongue over and over until a wet, little noise came from his throat coupled with a groan that sounded _sincerely_ unwell. I slapped my hand against his pretty chin and held him there, fucking his throat with my fingers. Another wet gag. My knuckles were in his mouth now, fingers working him over and over.

Miles shuddered, unable to turn his head away. Sick spilled across my hand in droves with Miles feebly trembling under my unyielding hips. I pulled my hand out and listened to Miles cough and spit. The lingering sensation of my fingers, long-gone, upset his stomach again and a torrent of vomit gushed across my chest. “Shit,” he coughed, “s-sorry…”

Part of me was worried, because now, he was puking over and over, unable to stop, and it didn’t sound like much was coming out; he had already emptied most of himself onto me. But I couldn’t stop either. “Oh god!” I mewled. 

“Oh…Oh g-” another small dribble spilled out of his throat with a hard rasp of his throat. 

I touched my own chest, gyrating my hips, realizing how depraved of an individual I was. But who was worse? The guy getting off? Or the guy catering to the guy getting off? And oh _god_ , I was getting off so hard and so fast I couldn’t have stopped it even if I tried. Miles’s lack of control, his needing me, his helplessness under my weight, the shift of my hips turning his stomach all came together and the next time my cock stirred inside of my pants as I fucked against him, I tilted my head back and whined. “Oh god! I’m gonna cum in my pants!”

Miles actually grabbed my hips and rocked me too, sounding like he was suppressing his nausea again. His sounds and his touch and the way I was forced to rub on him drew a sharp surge of cum out of my cock as well as a submissive, little moan. 

“Ohhh! Right there!” I begged.

Our slick, wet pants brushed together and I erupted into my boxers again even harder than before. This happened over and over with my being unable to stop cumming for twenty seconds or so. It was, hands down, the most intense orgasm I had ever experienced. 

I finished, a final burble of cum leaking into my pants, completely out of breath. Miles was too. Afterward I pulled myself up and found the light. It was way, _way_ over in some ungodly corner, so I think I actually did Miles a favor by convincing him to just sit down and let it go instead of stumbling around in the dark and potentially spitting up on the carpet. 

Once the lights came on, I glanced down at Miles. He looked fucking awful and I immediately questioned whether any of that sadistic, selfish bullshit was worth it. He was hunched over, spitting into this horrendous mess that, in all honesty, turned my own stomach a bit. 

Miles took one look at himself, the floor, and me, and made this horrified face. “Oh, boy…yeah…not my kink. Well. Merry Christmas, I guess.”


End file.
